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Pancakes: The Movie

April 12, 2012
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It’s all go all day on the filming set
We came here for nine but we’ve done nothing yet
Except for drink coffee and eat a few snacks
And sit at the table and try to relax.
We’ve watched and we’ve waited and listened a lot
And the sun through window has made us feel hot.

They’re all very friendly, professional too
The cast, the director, the rest of the crew
And they’ve managed to get several shots in the can
With the girl who plays Jess and her granddad, the man
Who’s the lead in this short film of loss and of gain
But the waiting about is a bit of a strain.

Just a tick, they’ve moved on to the bits that I’m in.
I’ve forgotten my lines and my head’s in a spin
So they’re doing it over and over once more
I changed my position from where, just before,
The action had moved me to lean further back
So we have to repeat till I’m on the right track.

Now the other guy fluffed and I’m glad it’s not me
Who left out my cue lines, the two words “has she?”
So we couldn’t continue – then he got it right
But the phone rang – I’m thinking this may take all night!
Someone was looking too high or too low
So we did it again till we had it ‘just so’.

The afternoon wore on. The evening as well.
More close-ups were needed to make it all gel
And the lighting man’s nightmare, as night followed day
Was a challenge to beat, like the hair that won’t stay
And the make up adjustment to cover the shine
On the noses and cheeks that were oozing, like mine.

And now it’s all said and so nearly all done.
They’re striking the scene and the tension has gone.
The boom mike and cameras and clapperboard’s packed.
The few of the crew that have stayed are all knacked
Exhaustion has carried the cast to their beds
But tomorrow they’ll come back to pick up the threads.

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Sight Was in The End

April 9, 2012
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Our purposes were muddled and our heads were crossed,
Our time was numbered and our days were up
Our horizons were dead and our doornails lost,
Our chips were made and our bed was down
Our bridges were burnt and our boats were crossed,
Our tide had sailed and our ship had turned
Our way was cooked and our goose was lost
Our roll was counted and our cost was called
Till our T’s were dotted and our eyes were crossed.


A Bum in The Boatrace

April 7, 2012
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Two crews were psyched up and ready to strain
Determined to win without quiver or shiver
Expending their strength and commitment of brain
On the oars that cleave through the flows of the river
Lined up and raring to go, the gun fires
Muscles and corpuscles stretched to the max
And the boats start to move with the cox’s desires
To take up the lead with their early attacks

Swiftly they skim through the buffeting waves
Two boats on the water, no space in between,
Surviving and striving, the closest of shaves
As they round the next bend like an oiled machine
Stretched to the limit, eight minutes to go
Advantage is theirs when they reach the next bend
As Oxford start feeling more than status quo
For the final approach to the Chiswick Bridge end.

Surrey behind them, the Steps just in view
But what is that bobbing? A man in the drink?
Decapitation avoided by crew.
The race at a halt and the man off to clink.
It seems that he protests elitism here
It seems he is rich, from an elitist school
And how he can square that is not really clear
He must be from Cambridge – they like to break rules


Future

April 5, 2012
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Future brings our crocodile fears to bear
on tenterhook steps we would not lightly take.
Future is a Bowie knife our minds would forge
to slice and chop away a dreaded déjà vu.
Future is a plan designed on previous disasters,
history’s tedious lessons recalled avoiding pain
or else carelessly neglected so we suffer once again.
When we draw back the curtain to bathe in colour
to breathe the fresh day, smell the meadow sweet,
touch the cornerstone of a new cathedral
precautions heeded or cavalierly disregarded
lead us to be what we had planned… or failed to be.


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Twenty-four and Counting

April 2, 2012
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We wed two dozen years ago today 

Enjoying every aspect of our love 

And working for tomorrows yet unseen 

And giving, giving of our very essence 

 

We’ve pushed the trolley up the lumpy hill

When wild winds lashed rain into our face

And icy breezes chilled us to the marrow

And arrows punched their way into our dreams

 

We hunkered, souls engaged and interlinked

Sharing each the other’s strength and counsel

Greeting days with pleasant resolution

Until the sun came wandering to view

 

Twenty-four full hours in each day

And our day is brightened by the stars

As planets track their influence through clouds

And moon and sun keep faith in tides and hours


Nearly Summer

April 1, 2012
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It felt as if the middle of the year

Had come to spread its syrup sun about

The sorry fortunes of the winter days

Dissipated with the gathering warm

But callous Nature played us like some fools

Captured in an April Foolish trick

And brought us back to feeling sorely cold

With prospects of an April spiked with snow.


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